Blood of Life, Blood of Death
by LordAnarchy666
Summary: The unthinkable has happened. I was so close to winning, so many people laid down their lives for me, but I've failed. Voldemort escaped. I thought I had found them all, but I was wrong. There's another Horcrux out there, and I don't know where or what it is.


Slowly we circled, sizing each other up. Voldemort had that damnable smirk on his face, as if he knew something I didn't. I should be the one smirking, because I _did _know something he didn't, and this night hinged upon that fact. But I've never smirked in my life, and wasn't planning on starting now. I was better than him.

Blood dripped down my face, threatening to get into my eye. I tasted the coppery flavor on my lips as I spat it onto the ground. I was not surprised that my scar was bleeding. After all I went through today so far, I was surprised that I was still alive, so a little blood didn't faze me at all.

My foot crunched on some glass as I circled to the right, waiting to make my move. Everyone else in the hall was completely silent, waiting with baited breathe, and not wanting to draw the Dark Lord's ire. I couldn't blame them. Too many had already been killed this night.

Almost too quick for me to notice, I saw Voldemort's shoe get caught slightly on the floor, causing him to lose his balance ever so slightly. It wasn't much, but I went for it.

My holly wand grew warm in my hand as I flicked it downward, transfiguring the stone floor into a foot deep marsh. The Twins' spell could be quite useful, but when Voldemort dispelled it before his foot even sank a millimeter, I knew it would take more than a simple schoolyard trick to win this fight.

Then, before my wand had even come to rest from the previous spell, Voldemort's wand made a small whipping motion, followed by an even quicker flash of blue.

I twirled my wand and brought it to bear just in time for the Concussive Hex to get deflected by my shield, sending it off careening into the crowd. The sound it created was quite loud, loud enough to blow out the remaining windows in the Great Hall, and more than a few bystanders screamed in surprise. I paid them no heed. They all had their wands out to block such ricochets, and everyone knew enough to survive this long.

Voldemort made no move to follow up his spell. Instead, he was probing for weakness or an opening, just like I was. The whole previous bout lasted just a few seconds.

I watched his chest rise and fall, ever so slightly. He was calm, far calmer than me. He was confidant too, but not overconfident. I did just survive his Killing Curse, again, so he wanted to finish the job properly. I knew he wouldn't throw any more Killing Curses at me, but we both knew there were a billion other ways to kill someone with magic. His composure told me as much.

I waited until he exhaled before making my move. My wand blurred in a series of figure eights, each one an Explosive Hex strong enough to blow apart a stone wall a foot thick. Flashes of pale red poured out from my wand as I willed myself to keep blasting away, each spell taking a little bit more out of me than the previous one.

I lost count of how many spells I cast at twenty. Each one should have hit Voldemort with the force off a burly Scot wielding a sledgehammer. This was Voldemort though. I expected him to block most of them. I didn't expect him to be able to block every last one though. His wand was fluid in motion, twirling it in a dance of defiance and deflecting every blast around him – into the ground, into the ceiling, and into the bystanders.

Every blast sent tremors though the ground, kicking up dust, and tossing rubble around. Those weren't kiddy spells I was tossing around, and just a single one of those could have blown a limb off.

It took several seconds for the dust to settle, but I didn't dare lower my wand. I knew it wouldn't be that easy. As Voldemort's visage slowly came into view, it was clear that he didn't even come close to getting hit. I flung a spell at least once a second, and he parried every single one. That was a bit unsettling, but he didn't gain the title of Dark Lord by milking cows in the Midlands.

The scene was unnerving. If it was any other man, I'd expect him to whistle a tune while twirling his wand, and maybe do a little jig. As it was, Voldemort transitioned smoothly into an aggressive fighting stance, clearly intent on destroying me. I shifted my center of gravity ever so slightly to the right, ready to dodge away from whatever world-shattering spell Voldemort would think of.

Voldemort was fast. The spell was halfway out his wand before he even incanted, "Avada Kedavra!"

I rolled off to the side like I was planning on doing. It was a predictable move by Voldemort. The green flash of light missed my by a good foot. I couldn't risk the time to turn my head to see where the spell hit, but going by the cries of the people around me, Voldemort killed someone. I had no choice to dodge, and someone paid the price for that.

A smile came across Voldemort's face. "Oh, so sorry, did you know him?"

I glanced behind me to see to sightless eyes of Seamus Finnegan staring up lifelessly. "Fuck you, Voldemort," I cursed at him, wiping the sweat and blood out of my eyes. Anger welled up me, anger enough to swear, which I rarely did. "Haven't you killed enough yet?"

"I will kill all those who oppose me. Stand down, and I may show mercy. How many of you wish to die for Harry Potter? The end is near. No one else need die on his behalf. Drop your wands and you will be spared."

"Like hell we will!" My semi-girlfriend Ginny Weasley shouted. That was the last thing she would ever say. Voldemort half turned and smashed a Killing Curse into her face as soon as she broke a step out of the line.

"So be it," Voldemort said calmly. His stance shifted almost imperceptibly, as if he knew that was going to happen all along.

"Your quarrel is with me, Voldemort," I said with barely constrained rage. He just killed a good friend and my girlfriend, and while that wasn't quite registering yet, I did feel the rage. I realized he had outsmarted me. He got me to make the first mistake.

"Come get me then," Voldemort mocked, causing his robes to flare out behind him dramatically. He swirled his wand and a black mist churned around him, lifting him up off the ground. It was almost like his own dark shadow was giving him flight. It was the same spell Voldemort used during the Polyjuice escape plan where Moody died.

I didn't hold back. I flung lightning. I flung fire. I flung ice. I flung lava. I even flung the kitchen sink. Every spell I knew, and even some I only made up there on the spot, I threw at him. A Withering Curse, Disintegrating Hex, and Bloodfire Jinx all left my wand, just to be easily counter by Voldemort with ease.

"Tut tut, Potter. I've known those spells since I was twelve," he said in a slightly condescending tone. "It's going to take a lot more than that."

I was breathing heavily now. Magic takes its toll, and I was throwing out more spells than I had the right to. I switched my focus to more precise various cutting and severing spells, trying to not be repetitive, and hoping that one small mistake would cause him to lose a finger or something. These types of spells could do a lot of damage with relatively little power, so they were good to conserve myself with.

After dodging my last _Sectumsempra_, Voldemort unleashed an earth-shattering shockwave that knocked everyone on their ass except me.

"Enough!" he shouted. "This ends now."

Everyone was sent for a loop, but I stood my ground, if a bit wobbly. Voldemort's wand slowly pointed at my head from his position in the air. At least when he was flying, there was less chance of collateral. I knew I had one chance to do this, and my timing had to be perfect. This was the moment that everything built up to.

Just as he cast his spell, predictably - "Avada Kedavra!" - I made my move.

Flourishing my wand in the well-rehearsed fashion I've known since my second year, I damn well nearly screamed "Expelliarmus!"

My Disarming Hex met the Killing Curse midflight, and as planned, the spells connected our wands together. The green and blue spells turned into the golden flare of _Priori Incantatem_. I hadn't expected it to work, since he was using the Elder Wand and not his Yew wand. But I knew then that it was truly more than just brother wands that bound us together, it was fate.

Voldemort recognized it too, and he gritted his teeth and came back down to the ground, his dark aura surrounding him like a shroud. The golden cage never formed; perhaps that part was due to brother wands only.

I was not about to lose this battle of wills. I've come too far to lose now. I harnessed all the anger, all the rage, and all the righteous fury at my disposable, and willed the golden beads that formed to Voldemort.

They moved ever so slowly, and I knew Voldemort had come too far to lose as well. Slowly though, I took a step forward, causing the golden beam to glow even brighter. And then I took another step, and another, until I was ten feet from him. The look on Voldemort's face was pure loathing. There was nothing but fury in his eyes. I suspected my face looked the same.

But I couldn't take another step. It was too much, and I couldn't move the beads any closer. I knew I was losing it. Fury and anger wasn't enough, I'd learnt that awhile ago, but it's what I had. I was clamped down so hard with my jaw that I thought my teeth would shatter, but it was not enough. If the _'Power He Knows Not'_ was truly love, I couldn't summon forth _any _of it.

What I did have though, were friends. Both of us were so focused on our battle of wills that we lost track of everyone else. I just barely heard the shout of "Reducto!" and everything seemed to move in slow motion.

Ron's spell collided with Voldemort's back and knocked him off balance. It wasn't much, but it was enough. I redoubled my efforts, and willed that motherfucking bead right up Voldemort's wand. The look on Voldemort's face said it all. It was one of absolute terror.

"See you in hell," I said, just as the golden beam exploded. Both spells surged into Voldemort, and the room fell completely silent. The Elder Wand soared through the air and into my waiting hand, and Voldemort keeled over backwards. The 'power he knew not was not love,' it was the Deathly Hallows. He did not know their potential or how they worked in unison, and that was his downfall. Ignorance.

Just as his body was about to hit the ground though, the inky blackness surrounded him surged like a tidal wave and crashed through the air and out the nearest window, leaving nothing but robes on the ground. It was too surreal to see, and my jaw just hung open. It all happened so fast.

"No, no, no!" I yelled. I came to my conclusion pretty quick. "We missed one, we fucking missed one." I ran up to Ron and grabbed his shirt. "We missed a fucking Horcrux! We missed one!"

I let go of him and immediately ran over to a random steel goblet and kicked it off to the side. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! So fucking close, which one did we miss!"

I was beyond livid; I was lost for words other than incoherent cursing. Too many thoughts ran though his mind. If he had no more Horcruxes, he should have died. There would have been a body. Instead, it was just like first year when Quirrell died. And it was just like when I defeated him as a baby.

Voldemort's wraith just escaped, and there was not a damn thing I could have done about it.

I quickly ran though the list of known Horcruxes. It was possible there was more than seven. Voldemort had six, plus his body, which made seven. And with the former Horcrux that had been inside me, that would have made eight. There could have been more, or perhaps we didn't properly destroy one.

Neville killed the snake. The locket was done, as was the goblet. The diary was long gone. Dumbledore destroyed the ring. The only one I was unsure about was Ravenclaw's Diadem. I didn't actually witness it being destroyed by the Fiendfyre. I just assumed that it would be consumed by the all-devouring fire like everything else.

While chaos erupted in the Great Hall, I tossed my invisibility cloak back on and made a stealthy escape. Ron's family would be mourning over both Ginny and Fred now. I was quite upset too, but I'd have my time to mourn later. I had to shun my grief off to the side, at least for now. There was still work to be done, and I was the only one who could do it.

The inside of Hogwarts was a mess. Stone, wood, and paper were strewn everywhere, and the walls seemed perpetually stained with blood. The structure of the castle was still sound, and it would take more than Voldemort and some giants to unravel the foundations, so I assumed most of the stone came from the various statues and fresco's that once decorated the hall. It was a minor detail, but it still pissed me off.

This was my home.

Hell, this was the only place _Voldemort_ called home as well. To see so much wanton destruction brought tears to my eyes. It wasn't enough that he killed my friends and acquaintances, but he had to go an desecrate a place of learning, a place that was damn near sacred to every witch and wizard within a thousand miles, _and _the only place I've truly called home.

I was too preoccupied with that train of thought to pay attention to where I was going. That was okay though, as my legs seemed to know my destination.

The seventh floor corridor had seen better days. Much of it had been gutted by fire, and like the previous floor, rubble and glass were strewn everywhere. The Room of Requirement had been the source of the fire. Crabbe had killed himself with Fiendfyre, and in doing so, allowed it to get out of control. I'm not sure what put it out, or if it just died with time or when the magic dissipated, but the smell of death and despair lingered.

And, the whole place reeked of black magic. A muggle would have noticed the inky, slippery, uneasy feeling just by being near the place. The magic itself wasn't addicting – it was the power it gave you that was – but such a large amount of it left a nasty, vile, repulsive, and disgusting aftertaste in my senses. Again, my home was violated.

I've casted two of the three Unforgivables in my time, and neither of those left such a… wrong feeling. It would take hundreds of castings of those spells to leave such an imprint in the environment. It was a stain on Hogwarts that I'm not sure could ever be removed. It was almost parasitic in nature, and such a thing was similar to why curse damage was so hard to heal.

I guess this is what happens when you literally put your heart and soul into a piece of magic, so much so that it consumes you.

I took ten steps into the room and cleared my mind of those thoughts. Instead, I diverted them onto the task at hand. Prophecy said that "_Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives_." That could be interpreted in a dozen different ways, and probably lot more than that. Technically, he got hit by his own Killing Curse, again. That was kind of a gray area. I didn't really _kill _him, Horcruxes aside. He would have killed himself, just like Crabbe did. It was because of something I did that caused it to happen, sure, but that's always the case with suicides. There's always a trigger, but that didn't mean I was the one to actually pull it.

In the end, I guess that meant the prophecy was still unresolved. His Horcruxes prevented me from finishing it, and that brought me into another train of thought. He could have made a new one. Hell, I had a better insight into Voldemort's mind than nearly anyone else still alive. If I were him, I would have made a new one as soon as I caught wind that we were looking for them. If that were the case, then I was well and truly fucked.

So, I had to follow the principle of _lex parsimoniae_. The most obvious solution was most likely the correct one. We had all assumed that Voldemort made his Horcruxes from items that were of significant importance to him. We had assumed that he would make one out of something of Rowena Ravenclaw's, and we assumed that would be her Diadem. I had taken Luna's word on it. There could be other Ravenclaw artifacts, but my ignorance could be all of our downfalls.

But, everyone knows what happens when you assume something. I _had _to be sure. I had to make sure that the Founder's Diadem was a Horcrux. And, if it was one, and it wasn't destroyed, than that would be a simple fix. That was the absolute best case scenario.

The other possibilities were that it wasn't a Horcrux to begin with, and that I had destroyed a priceless artifact, or that it was a Horcrux and it was destroyed. Either way, that meant there was another Horcrux we didn't know about.

The reality was grim. People were dead. People I knew were dead. Voldemort was still out there. I didn't have many options, but they all started with the same thing.

I pulled out my wand.

Searching the burnt out remains of the Room of Requirement by hand would take months. I didn't have months. I reckoned I had a couple hours before I'd be missed.

The holly felt great in my hands as I readied up one of my most practiced spells – the Summoning Charm. I had mastered it during my fourth year, and it was one of the most useful spells one could learn.

"Accio Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem!" I called out. I hoped that verbalizing the spell would give me more power, as I was feeling a bit weak. I had a clear picture of what the Diadem looked like in my head, and there wasn't much more than that I could do.

I waited for several minutes for something, anything, but it didn't come.

I sighed, and reached for the one idea that I could do to improve the situation. Hypothetically at least.

The Cloak of Invisibility came out of my pocket, looking as new as it did the day it was made by Ignotus Peverell. Knowing the history behind this particularly cloak, I considered it my most prized possession. I threw it over me, allowing myself to embrace the legacy.

The Resurrection Stone found its way into my hand. It was a large part of the reason to how I lived through Voldemort's Killing Curse for a second time. That made it invaluable to me even though I doubt those exact circumstances would ever happen again. I owed my life to Cadmus Peverell's Stone. Of course, my mother's sacrifice would never be forgotten either.

The final piece of the puzzle, and the one that most considered the best, the Elder Wand, was a slender thing made from white, elder wood. When it fell into my hand, it was the greatest feeling so far in my life. Perhaps when I went all the way with a girl, that would be a better feeling, but as that had yet to happen, I'd settle for what I can get.

All three Deathly Hallows in combination and in my hands was a weird feeling. Something had changed, something magical, but I couldn't quite place my finger on it. There was something to the legend, I was sure of it. I may be the first person in history to have collected all three as most just lusted after the wand. I didn't want any of them, but going in line with the rest of my life, it seemed to just fall into my lap.

When I held all three, I had sudden clarity with what needed to be done. I raised the wand, and with well practiced motion, I called out, "Accio Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem!"

I felt the magic… _hook_, for lack of a better word. I knew the magic was successful immediately. There was a rustling sound as the object of my intention freed itself from the rubble. Then I had to throw myself to the ground as the metal Diadem soared at me and nearly took my head off.

Luckily, my reflexes have always been quick. Death by ancient Founder's artifact was not my ideal method of leaving this world.

The Diadem settled down about five feet from where I landed up on the ground. It was a beautiful thing, and it was completely intact. Somehow, it had survived Fiendfyre. That was both good and bad.

I hesitated in picking it up, but it was the only surefire way to know if it was a Horcrux. Well, that's not strictly true, but it was the easiest way, and quickest. Well, I suppose that's not strictly true easier. If there was a simple Horcrux-detection spell, I didn't know it. At least, one that didn't involve destroying the object.

When my skin touched the intricate silver Diadem, I felt the magic tingle up my arm. But it wasn't hostile or malicious magic. I didn't feel angry or hateful or spiteful when it picked it up, and I felt no trace of Voldemort's soul trying to possess me. I didn't need a Horcrux in my head to know that, Ron and Hermione felt the effects all the same.

The stupid thing was never a Horcrux, which meant something else had to be. Perhaps something of Ravenclaw's but I was at a loss as to what that could be.

As I held the Diadem in my hand, an idea came to me. The artifact was supposed to bestow knowledge and intelligence to its wearer, and the obvious answer seemed to toss that thing on my head. So that's what I did.

The thing was a tight fit on my head. It was made for a woman, and not all heads are the same size after all.

I didn't feel different. Nothing changed. The only thing that I noticed was the magical tingle that I got from touching the object. As I wore it though, another idea came into my head. I had the Deathly Hallows and Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem in my possession, and that's four legendary artifacts more than anyone else.

I took the Deathstick in my hand and I knew what I had to do. The Diadem was imprinted with Ravenclaw's magic - magic over a thousand years old. All magic gets stronger with age under normal circumstances. And a thousand years is an awfully long time.

I cleared a large section of the floor of all debris and got to work. Then, I found a center focal point and carefully drew a circle around it using a conjured string. It was about as perfect I could get without using precision tools. A circle was the starting point of pretty much every magical rite and ritual, but it was all obsolete magic in the 'modern' world. At least in the Ministry's eyes it was, and they were about as old fashioned as they get.

Next, I drew an equilateral triangle around it, and you can see where this was going. The lines were dead straight, and so far, I was satisfied where my crazy plan was heading.

Finally, I bisected the inscribed circle with a line, dividing the whole thing in half. It was the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, _my _symbol.

The last thing to do was to set the symbols. That was done using my wand and precise usage of a stone gouging spell. The magic obeyed me flawlessly. I would have never been able to do something so exact with my holly wand.

This type of magic was from a time long past, from when magic was more than a tool, even more than a just a way of life. It was when it was the very essence of living, when you were attuned to magic, eat, breathed and slept magic. Magic was practically its own religion, and a thousand years ago, you lived by magic, and died with it as well. At the very least, the muggles tried to kill you for your birthright. Back in the day, not all witches and wizards had wands, so it was harder to identify us. And along those lines, most rituals don't need a wand, making them the perfect conduit of old magic.

With the ritual system in place, literally set in stone, I began the next part. Procuring an intact cauldron from the bowels of the Room of Requirement was not that hard. There were hundreds of them hidden in there over the years. Even so, there were only a few that escaped the wrath of the Fiendfyre, so I had do make do with a solid silver one. Woe is me that I couldn't find a solid gold one.

It didn't particularly matter. Ever potion we did in class was done in a pewter cauldron. But, I was afraid that some of the ingredients I would use would eat right through it. I figured it was better to err on the side of caution. I was exploring uncharted territory with what I was about to do.

Deciding on the ingredients was the hardest part. The only time I had ever seen a ritual like this done was three years ago when Wormtail resurrected Voldemort with my blood and some other things. This ritual was going to be much more complicated, and I quickly made up a list of what I would need.

Of course, my blood would be a prime ingredient once more. I used a standard silver knife to make the cut, and allowed a lot more blood to pour out than I probably should have. Regardless, as long as my heart was beating, I would get better. I hoped.

With the base of the potion sorted, I started collecting the other stuff. My task wasn't pretty. I had to cover all the essentials that I would need to accomplish my goal, and my goal was to take the essence of that Diadem and discover what other artifacts she could have laying around. In order to do that, I had to figure out what _made _Rowena Ravenclaw. The first few steps were fairly generic.

For hearing, I tossed in a worn pair of the Weasley' twins' Extendable Ears. The fire underneath the cauldron caused my expended blood to turn the extendable ears into a gob of pinkish slime, but still, fundamentally the same.

For sight, I tossed in my own glasses. They were already busted from the long fight and outright missing a lens. I couldn't repair them with my holly wand, and by the time I thought to use the Elder Wand, they were already in the ritual potion.

For taste, I tossed in a silver spoon that was probably once from the Hogwarts' kitchen. I would have much rather used an actual food, but there was none to be had up here and the Room's magic seemed to be damaged.

Fiendfyre can destroy pretty much any piece of magic, and the Room's magic was no exception, even though it didn't seem to completely finish it off. Hell, all fire can pretty much destroy magic, given enough time. It's the great destroyer.

The symbolism was what mattered anyways. Magic was all about symbolism and focus. If I believed the spoon symbolized taste, then that's all that mattered. Belief is everything, and Neville Longbottom is living proof of that.

For feeling, I tossed in an old sweater that was lying around. It was undamaged by the fire, but it was well worn. It was the kind of thing you'd only wear when surrounded by family, and it looked very warm. And warmth was a good, homely feeling, so it went into the cauldron and soaked up a lot of the blood before emulsifying.

For smell, a few ounces of sulfur were added in. I waited a few seconds to make sure the concoction wouldn't blow up, but it seemed to be stable. And the sulfur was absolutely nasty. I took the time to wipe the tears, sweat, and blood out of my eyes again, and on a spur of the moment, used the Elder Wand to conjure a new pair of glasses. It wasn't very difficult, as they were essentially a part of me and I knew every detail of them.

With the five senses and the very basics of life defined, I set about the more ambiguous components. Love, Hate, Spirit and Language all made their way into the cauldron, and were all fairly obvious solution.

Life was only the third most important ingredient, believe it or not. But it was the messiest. It involved sacrifice. Wormtail has sacrificed his arm for his ritual, but I needed something much more potent. And since it wasn't the most important ingredient, the sacrifice didn't have to be from me. It took me awhile to find it, but I found Crabbe's charred body.

Carefully, I used my knife to open up the dead kid's chest. It wasn't pretty, and the smell was awful. The body hadn't started to bloat yet, as it was just a couple hours old. I'd never done this before, but a few cuts later, I had a bloody human heart in my hand that used to belong to a schoolmate.

Now it belonged to me.

The heart found its way into the cauldron, and I prepared for the most important ingredient, which was a personal sacrifice.

For magic, I tossed in my Holly wand. It was the very essence of my magic, and when it left my fingers, it felt like I lost a piece of myself. It was a far more significant loss than a mere sacrifice of limb. Magic is who I am, is _what _I am.

My wand settled in the cauldron and sank to the bottom, as if the piece of wood was heavier than the rest. But it was the weight of the magic that sunk it, and what a heavy burned it was.

I was nearly done. The final ingredient was the focus, and the obvious choice was the Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw. I tossed that in, and then proceeded to adjust the cauldron to make sure it was precisely in the middle of my carving.

Satisfied, I ignited the ritual. I first started by pouring more of my blood into the grooves I had carved into the floor, causing the Deathly Hallows symbol to fill up with my magic. Then, with a word, it caught fire.

I felt the magic immediately. Hell, I bet everyone in a five mile radius felt that magic. Such power I had never felt before in my life. It was something primal, something fierce… and it was the result of something I did. That felt amazing.

The room started to fill up with a light mist, the cauldron being the source. It wasn't an ordinary mist; that much was obvious. It was a plethora of color – reds, blue, yellows, greens - the lot. It radiated magic, unadulterated. It was unnatural, and beautiful.

I felt myself chanting words, but it all sounded like gibberish to me. I was starting to grow faint from blood loss, but I dare not stop the ritual now. I had too much invested in it, and too much was at stake.

The magic kept pulsating, and I could hear the hum of the power. I never felt anything like this when I was subjected to Voldemort's ritual, but I suppose this was on a whole other level. This involved the Hallows and invoking their magic, which has never been done in written memory. If Voldemort knew the power that these things held, he would have gone after them I'm sure, but ignorance has always been his strong point.

Slowly, the mist congealed, and I could just barely make out a form through the mist, inside of the ritual circle. And then, all at once, the overbearing magic faded, as did the flaming symbol, leaving me with the results of my work.

It was a woman, that much was obvious. She was standing inside the cauldron and looked severely disoriented and dazed with tussled black hair and dark, haunted eyes.

She was also deathly pale. Actually, on closer inspection, it was worse than just being pale. Her skin was an unhealthy grayish color, and had an odd sheen to it, almost waxy. She was also dangerously underweight, and I could her ribs. She didn't look well.

She looked like she was dead. _'Was'_ being the imperative word.

I knew who this was, but I hadn't expected the ritual to work quite so literally. I had just seen a bust of the person's head a couple hours ago, and speaking of bust…

She was completely naked. Well, naked aside from the Diadem resting on her hand, on my holly wand held loosely in her fingers.

She was striking, if that was the right word. I could see how she was considered beautiful at one time, but the whole freshly-dead, newly resurrected thing didn't really do it for me. The oxygen had not yet begun to circulate, and her nipples were bluish. Hell, she had been dead for a thousand years, so it was possibly she couldn't even remember how to breath, at least right away. After a few seconds of scientific staring, I noticed her chest rising and falling slowly, and the color started to come back, a little bit at a time. She was still pretty much motionless though, probably due to extreme entropy or rigor mortis, I suppose.

Goal accomplished, I whipped off the Invisibly Cloak. The only sign that the woman saw me was her eyes widening ever so slightly. Then, I dropped the bombshell.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts and the Land of the Living, Rowena Ravenclaw."


End file.
